Value
by Gomes
Summary: [GC] Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom
1. Invisible Ink

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (just on the safe side)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: This is my first attempt at a CSI fic, so please keep the death threats to a minimal. *grin* I know: it's off to a slow start, so I promise to have the next installment soon.  
  
----------Value - Part One----------  
  
Gil Grissom pursed his lips, deep in concentration. His eyes rested in front of him, unfocused. He loosely gripped a single piece of paper.  
  
Catherine Willows breezed into his office and stopped short. Her eyes immediately fell upon his lower lip and she wet her lips unconsciously. She fought back the urge to grasp his lips with her own, to savour him, an urge she often denied herself of. She glanced at what she thought her supervisor was transfixed upon, then slowly shifted her gaze to his eyes; they were somewhat glazed over but ever intense. Her mind concocted images of him in his most intimate moments - those beautiful eyes half-closed, moaning, panting her name. She inhaled sharply, willing those forbidden thoughts to grace her only in her slumbering moments. "Grissom." She said, walking towards him. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Gil blinked out of his trance, exhaling slowly. "Cath." Her name melted off his lips, but he didn't bring his eyes up to meet hers.  
  
She noted that he seemed surprised by her presence. She leaned in, narrowing her eyes, and observed the paper in his hand. "It's blank." She stated lamely.  
  
Gil swallowed hard; her hair tickled his neck while her gentle aroma forced his pulse to quicken. "It's nothing." He stated casually, slipping the solitary sheet into the paper shredder.   
  
Catherine shrugged. Her boss had tendencies to shut himself off from the outside world, not to mention to be rather on the odd side so she quickly dismissed his actions. "I was just wondering if you were coming to hand out our assignments, professor." She teased.  
  
A small smile escaped his lips then quickly faded as he stood there, observing her. His crystal-blue eyes pierced through her, stroking her soul.   
  
"What?" Catherine began to feel nervous. Normally, her exhibitionist side would thrill at the mere thought of someone watching her, but with Gil, it was different. She often contemplated their relationship, taking pride in the fact that he would only open up to her - on those rare occasions when she found a small imperfection in the otherwise flawless brick wall he had built around him. She didn't consider him her supervisor . . . and somewhere down the line, she was sure that he dropped his title for her. They were friends, best of them, she was sure. They were the "parents" of the Graveyard Shift, the eldest and the most respected. Women were always taken in by Gil's handsome looks, teetering on the boyish side. His eyes always spoke volumes, though only in riddles - conundrums for those who dared to tackle the mystery that is Gil Grissom. Catherine was no different from those women, except she wasn't taken in. . . she plunged, fell head first in love with the docile man. It was his mannerisms, his strong intellect and respect for every creature imaginable that attracted her so strongly to him. Women would easily be lining up at his door, but he scared them off, hiding behind a mask of indifference when it came to his emotions, shyly declining to embrace physical and psychological contact.   
  
Grissom couldn't help but stare, almost etching her entire being into his mind and assuring himself that it would never be slid to the backburner; her angelic face would forever haunt his thoughts. He bowed his head, letting out a sheepish chuckle. "Sorry." He whispered apologetically and walked towards the door, where she was now standing. "After you." He ushered her out, his hand a breath away from touching the small of her back. He didn't feel worthy of touching the famed beauty . . . his "Venus". He fell behind a bit, watching her walk in front of him, hips swaying tauntingly. Her golden hair bounced childishly and then caressed her cheeks as she whipped around to see what was keeping him. Men loved her. They loved her body, her bubbly personality and her boldness. But they didn't know her, not like he knew her. He loved the essence of her - her confidence made him feel confident. Her presence made him feel that he could accomplish anything. Without words, she could convey strength to him, halt him from doubting himself and force him to believe in his capabilities. He grinned at the cliché, but felt it fit: she completed him. When she had been dancing, he knew that she had another calling. He had seen the intelligence, the dedication behind her eyes, and knew that she deserved more than a lubricated pole and hard-ons, though the latter seemed to visit him more often than he would like to admit. Never had he seen anyone climb the ranks so fast, and he often joked about how she would soon take his place as supervisor. His eyes focussed on hers, and she gave him a darling smile that sent shivers coursing through his body. He walked briskly towards her and they walked towards the break room where the other investigators had gathered. "Sorry I'm late." Gil muttered and went straight for the coffee. He poured himself two cups, handing one to his blond companion.  
  
He picked up a folder that was resting on the table, observed it then put it down exactly has it had been before he had come into contact with it. "Sara." He cocked his head to the right. "Since you've already seen it, which one do you want?"  
  
Sara's eyes dropped down. "How do you know Warrick didn't look at it? Or Nick?" She protested, not even bothering to deny that the files had indeed been viewed.   
  
He pointed at the folder, which looked seemingly untouched. No papers were out of order, nor were any protruding the sides. It had even been placed directly in the middle of the table, parallel to the edges. "It's meticulous." He nodded towards Warrick and Nick. "They're not."  
  
Nick's brow furrowed as both men began smoothing invisible lines out of their clothes. "I'm meticulous." Nick said, almost childishly.   
  
"But that's how it was when I came in here." Sara said, confused at how her supervisor and once mentor could have concluded tel outcome.  
  
"Exactly." Gil tapped his temple. "You're CSIs for a reason." He commented on the team's obsession at observing everything. He picked up the folder and skimmed through the files quickly. He picked out the third one and handed it to Sara. "Jane Doe found in Red Rock Canyon." His eyes smiled mischievously. "The paper has that," he paused, looking for the word, "worn-out feeling to it."  
  
Sara grimaced and snatched the paper. "I don't know how you do it." She muttered under her breath.   
  
"Nick." Gil pointed at Sara. Nick got the gist and jogged up to meet with his partner.  
  
"Warrick, you have a lovely stack of paperwork to go through, and then you'll be on call." Gil crossed his arms over his chest, daring the young CSI to defy him. "You've put in a lot of overtime - I don't want you collapsing out of exhaustion."   
  
Warrick passed a hand through his wild hair. "Fine." He sighed and left the room.  
  
"And. . . ?" Catherine raised her eyebrow impatiently.   
  
He flashed her one of his boyish smiles that always made her knees go weak. Suddenly, his smile disappeared, almost as if he had remembered some terrible news. Catherine saw him pale, and walked over to her best-friend.   
  
"You okay?" She asked, gliding her hand over his back in an attempt to comfort him.   
  
Gil took a deep breath. "Yeah." He exhaled. "Let's go. We have a murder at Lupo, the restaurant at the Mandalay Bay."   
  
"You're taking me to a nice restaurant? I'm surprised," she paused, "and a little frightened."  
  
Gil held the door for her. "It's the things that don't surprise you that should cause worry." He said, wisely.  
  
"Either way, you always take a gal to the nicest places." She sighed dreamily, brushing against him as she exited the break room.  
  
  
  
Gil closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. «That woman will be the death of me yet.» He thought to himself as he followed her to the parking lot.  
  
–TBC– 


	2. Distractions

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (just on the safe side)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: I apologize for any geographical inaccuracies. I haven't travelled far from my sheltered Quebec life… *grin*  
  
----------Value - Part Two----------  
  
Gil climbed in the Tahoe and glanced at the already seated – already buckled up Catherine. "Eager?" He asked, putting on his shades.  
  
"Cautious." Came her curt reply.   
  
He glanced over at her, matching her grin. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Mandalay Bay. Catherine fidgeted in her seat, changing positions and sighing aloud. "Something bothering you, Catherine?" Gil asked casually, finally taking a hint.  
  
Catherine let out a sardonic smile. "Oh, how astute of you to notice, Mr. Grissom. Now I see why you were appointed head of the CSI Graveyard Shift – nothing gets by you."  
  
Gil gave her a half-smile. "Well developed senses, I guess." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. His mind, however, was on the petite strawberry-blond sitting beside him. Whilst most – save Greg and his outrageous wardrobe – settled for casual wear at work, dawning jeans and t-shirts, Catherine always managed to make a fashion statement. Gil smiled, noting that even the plainest of clothes could look like a million bucks when sported by Catherine Willows. The car came to a resting pause at a traffic light, and he tried inconspicuously to observe her attire: clad in a regular pair of black leggings, a black tank-top and a baby pink mini-hoody; she was breathtaking.   
  
Gil eased the car in the parking lot that surrounded Lupo's restaurant. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the sky, and Catherine watched the colors dance off Gil's face. She stepped out of the Tahoe and made her way to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, she glanced at her surroundings, noting the group of undoubtedly hungry customers kept in line by the several uniforms. Her eyes trailed to the restaurants opening, where glass was scattered about inside and out and looking through the windows, she noted a general sense of havoc: tables up-turned, food splatters and broken chairs milling about. She absentmindedly reached for her bag, always keeping an eye on her surroundings, when her hand came into contact with warm flesh. She focused and looked down at her hand. Her eyes traveled up his arm to his shoulder, up his neck and rested on his handsome face. Her breathing deepened as her pores seemed to absorb his energy from the mere 'hand-on-hand' contact.   
  
Gil broke the spell by retreating his hand close to his body, as if he had been burnt. He closed his eyes forcefully, reconsidering his recent action and tried to rectify his rudeness by offering to carry her bag. She smiled a thank you and closed the trunk after him. They walked up to the well-acquainted yellow tape that seemed to hang with such pride and Catherine lifted it up for her boss. They walked silently to the entrance, carefully stepping around the shards of glass from the now destroyed front doors. Gil put down both evidence bags and knelt down. Catherine watched him and after a few seconds lag, joined him. "See anything interesting?"   
  
He picked up a shard of glass, with what looked like blood remains on it. His eyes jotted to hers and then he tossed it behind him. "Nope." He stated plainly, getting up and picking up the bags.   
  
Catherine looked at him oddly and then in the direction where he threw the piece. Darkness never played part of the ally, and she couldn't pin-point where the important piece of evidence landed. "That piece of glass - " she started but was cut off by Gil's 'just drop it' look. Catherine shook her head, not understanding. She looked at him expectantly, waiting an answer to his behavior but was rewarded with a swift turn, and a silent conversation with his back. She stood up, and grabbed her bag from his hand and stepped through the glass-less wood-cased door. Gil opened the door, letting it swing shut behind him; glass tinkling as a few more fragments became unhinged and careened downwards to the floor.  
  
Catherine closed her eyes as she heard the crunching noise of evidence being stepped on.. She glanced down at his hands then looked up at him. "The door." She muttered.   
  
Gil swallowed hard. "What?"   
  
"Gloves." She stated and fished out a pair from her bag. "Try wearing them." She told him coldly, slapping them to his chest.  
  
Jim Brass stepped up behind them, unseen. "I didn't expect you two to be here." He said, surprised. "A chef found the body in the kitchen." He muttered, straightening his tie. "Right hand in the deep-fryer."  
  
Catherine looked at him, disgusted. "A burn killed him?" She asked, skeptically.  
  
Jim motioned the two CSIs to follow him into the kitchen. They walked by broken chairs and wrecked tables, napkins and tablecloths strewn about, until they reached a rather large swinging door. Jim took out a handkerchief and pushed the door open, holding it for the two investigators.   
  
Catherine held her gloved hand to her face, grimacing. "It smells like rotten food in here." She commented, inhaling the latex. The trio walked to the end of the room, took a right past a freezer and glanced on the floor.  
  
"Martin Howard." Jim read from his pad of paper. "Thirty-one years old, male Caucasian. Used to be five feet eleven inches but now it's kind of hard to tell. . ." Jim trailed off.  
  
"But you mentioned something about the deep-fryer." Catherine said, observing the body from a distance.   
  
Jim let out a grim laugh. He walked over to the fryers and took out a pair of tongs. "Right hand." He simply said, holding up what appeared to be a charred hand.   
  
Gil and Catherine bent down and observed the remains of Martin Howard. "Garbage disposal?" Catherine asked, looking at Gil. "So, he was cut up, shoved in there and then emptied on the floor?"   
  
Gil looked at her then back at the victim. "Can we rule out accident?"  
  
Catherine stood up and looked at the garbage disposal. "Yeah Grissom, that's what happened. This man accidently tripped over some knives and fell head first into a 'Waste King'." Catherine replied sarcastically.   
  
Jim looked at Catherine. "Head first?"   
  
Gil chewed on his bottom lip. "An assumption based on hair follicles seeming to rest on the bottom of the," he paused, "pile." He finished, lacking a better word.  
  
"Waste King Commercial Garbage Disposals." Catherine said, checking the make. "Found all around the world, manufactured here in the States." She turned around and faced the two men. "I'll have to do some more research on the make of the disposal," she then looked at Jim, "but can I take this to the lab?"   
  
Jim shrugged. "Bag it, or something."   
  
Catherine was about to disposal out of the sink but then paused. "We should check for prints before we take it." She stated, bending down and observing something on the rim of one of the blades. "The disposal has been cleaned." She mentioned, to no one in particular. "But blood can't hide from the wrath of Catherine Willows." She grinned smugly.  
  
Gil slowly stood up, letting his eyes travel from her well-developed calves, to her slim thighs and finally to her toned buttocks. The tip of his tongue rested between his teeth and he slowly jutted it out to lick his drying lips.  
  
Catherine glanced at Gil and he quickly looked away. «One of his moods, I guess.» She thought to herself as she furrowed her brow in response to his odd behavior. She went to her bag and started rummaging through, looking for some rubber-gelatin lifters, seeing if she could lift a print.   
  
Meanwhile, Gil wandered over to the 'Waste King'. He sighed deeply, and shook his head. He traced his fingers along the inside of the rim and quickly across the blades. Looking at his naked fingers he found trace of blood - his blood. He smeared the blood on his fingers with his thumb then glanced quickly at Catherine who had located the object of her desire. He quickly put his hand in his pocket and continued to search the parameter. "Anyone hear or see anything?" He asked Jim.   
  
Jim shook his head. "It's close to closing time, so they were all finishing up. Guests still lingered, finishing their coffee." He walked back to the door, recreating the findings. "Chef Felline walks in, stops at the freezer and opens it."  
  
"He could smell something rotting." Catherine added, now standing near the disposal. She took out the lifters and placed it on the inside rim of the 'Waste King'. She slowly glided her fingers across the material, and then lifted it up. "Shit."  
  
"He doesn't find any scraps of food and closes the freezer door," Jim did as he said, "and turns and sees the vic." Jim puts a hand to his heart in mock surprise.  
  
"Police work truly wasn't your calling." Gil gave him a half-smile, ridiculing his acting skills.  
  
"Did someone touch the disposal?" Catherine stormed up. "A chef, bus boy...police?"   
  
"Why?" Jim asked.   
  
Catherine held up the black piece of plastic paper. "It's smudged. Even the blades." She sighed. "Almost as if someone passed their hand over it." She held up the paper. "But we lifted two prints - one from the rim and one from the blade." Gil watched Catherine bag the evidence. "I'll run the prints through AFIS when we get back to the office."   
  
Catherine motioned Jim and Gil to help her remove the disposal. They struggled and finally got it unhinged and guided it towards an awaiting bag. "This is heavy." Jim grunted.  
  
"Wait." Catherine stopped the two men and took a swab. She passed it over one of the blades. "It's fresh, still recent. Might be the killer's who nicked his finger while pushing the victim through." Catherine hypothesized. "And there's some skin tissue as well." She put the swab in a container and took out the tweezers. "Okay, ready." She finally said, holding up the bag. "Guess the killer must have cut himself while cleaning up."   
  
Gil grunted as he and Jim placed the 'Waste King' in the bag. "Thanks for helping, Jim." Gil grumbled sarcastically , rubbing his back. Jim just grinned.   
  
Catherine sighed and clapped her hands together. "I think we're done." She said, letting her eyes travel one last time throughout the scene. Her eyes fell near the exit door and her thoughts went back to the chaotic scene in the restaurant. "If no one saw anything, then why is the restaurant in complete bedlam?" She asked Gil.  
  
He looked at her blankly. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, and decided on shrugging.  
  
"If the killer came through the exit, he could be in and out without anyone noticing." Catherine said, walking over to the exit door. "So why was the restaurant in ruin?"   
  
Jim stepped up. "The chef must have reacted, running out screaming for 911." He looked back at the swinging doors. "People panicked - was it something in the food, is there a killer, is the killer still here?" He sighed. "People do crazy things when they feel threatened. Like jumping out windows when they could have easily opened the door. . ." he trailed off.  
  
Gil walked up to the exit door where Catherine was checking for prints. He pressed on the metal bar that opened the door and a loud siren went off.   
  
Catherine stood up and whacked him on the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?" She pointed at the print kit she had prepared and how he had probably ruined her chances at finding anything.  
  
Gil looked at Jim then back at Catherine. "Working my theory." He said, stepping outside.   
  
"You should try working tel theory with gloves, Gil!" She called after him, only to be rewarded by the door shutting in her face. "Jim." Catherine said, letting him know that she would be outside with Gil.  
  
"I'll start loading the items into the truck." He said, understanding.  
  
Catherine stepped outside, letting the door close behind her. "Are you bored?" She asked aggressively.  
  
"What?" Gil asked, trailing his hand across the wall, as if he was looking for something.  
  
"I've been racking my brain, Gil; trying to find out what could be bothering you. Are you bored or have you begun to fall back down the evolution time line."  
  
"I don't understand what you mean." Gil said casually, not looking her in the eye.  
  
"You're acting like a real unprofessional son of a bitch right now, Gil Grissom."  
  
"Watch it, Cath." Gil finally turned to her.  
  
"You've been in the business how many years, Gil?" When he didn't answer she pressed on. "Because right now, it looks as if you've never been to a crime scene before, like you have no idea what the hell you are doing. I'm starting to wonder why they did give you the cushy job."   
  
Gil just watched her, and she could see anger flash in his eyes. "I think we're done here." He said, in a stable voice. He turned and began to walk away.  
  
Catherine let out a breath she didn't know she had even been holding. She hated being so hostile with him, but it pained her that he wouldn't open up. Something was obviously bothering the dedicated man, and she ached to heal his wounds. She followed his path, stopping a distance away from him. She observed him talking heatedly on his cell phone, and finally shutting it off. He pounded his fist on the roof of the Tahoe and then climbed in. She saw the lights turn on and watched him, with her mouth open, as he drove off.  
  
Jim walked up to her and raised his eyebrow. "Need a lift?"  
  
She nodded as she watched Gil's car dissapear down the road.  
  
—TBC— 


	3. Evidenceor Lack Thereof

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (just on the safe side)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: Thanks for the feedback guys - it fuels my desire to write.  
  
----------Value - Part Three----------  
  
Catherine stepped into Gil's office. He smiled a hello, not even bothering to look up at her.  
  
"Any idea where I can claim my luggage?" Catherine asked sarcastically, plopping down on his couch. It radiated of body warmth and she suspected that her temperamental leader must have become acquainted with it for an hour or so when he had arrived back at the lab. "I would have kept tabs on them, but my flight left without me."  
  
"Something came up." Gil shrugged. "Urgent." He finally looked up at Catherine, noticing her face flush with anger. He couldn't blame her being upset - hell, he was upset with himself. «But sometimes, a player must strike out to win the game.» He thought sagely to himself. "I have already sent the evidence to Greg at the lab. He's quite busy, so I'd advise you not to disturb him."   
  
Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She glanced down, near his desk and noticed the two evidence suitcases: his and hers. "May I take my bag?" She asked, sweetly.  
  
Gil nodded. "Be my guest."   
  
She smiled, and casually picked up a suitcase. "I'll be in the break room if you need me." She said politely and walked out of Gil's office. Catherine passed by Greg's lab and stopped short. "Busy - my ass." She pushed the glass doors open and turned down the racket he called music. "Greggy, what do you have for me on the samples that Grissom gave you?"   
  
Greg looked at her blankly. "What samples?" He suddenly looked down sheepishly when he realized that Catherine was observing the two testing tubes in his hand. He had been drumming to a beat with them. "My mom always told me I had a great sense of rhythm . . ." he offered lamely.  
  
"Greg, enough goofing off." Catherine said sternly, as if she was addressing Lindsey. "Now, I want you to give me the results of the blood and skin tissue sample that Grissom gave you." She said slowly.  
  
Greg once again dawned a blank look. "Gris didn't give me any samples." He said, matching Catherine's tone and speed.  
  
Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a disappointed sigh. "Thanks Greg." She threw over her shoulder as she exited the lab; the suitcase still gripped in her left hand. «What are you up to, Gil?» She asked herself, as she made her way to the break room. She quickly closed the door behind her and put the suitcase on the table. Glancing quickly at the suitcase owner's name, she opened Gil's bag. There lay two empty vials. "Dammit!" She slammed the lid shut. She paused and opened the suitcase again. «I might not have the skin sample, but . . . » She held up the vial of blood, noting that there was still a small amount lagging on the bottom. She rushed to the lab and handed Greg the sample. "Here. Work your magic."   
  
Greg nodded and took the sample from Catherine. "In exchange for a date?" He asked, hopeful.   
  
Catherine shot him an amused "over-my-dead-body" look. "Keep wishing, Greggy." She ruffled up his hair.   
  
"Hey, my 'coif'."   
  
Catherine let out a chuckle. "Call me when you have the results. Run it through AFIS or whatever . . . I want to know who that blood belongs to. Right now, it's our only lead."  
  
Greg nodded and went about his analysis. Catherine backed out, giving the youngun room to explore. She headed back to the break room to discover Gil sitting in the chair at the head of the table. He had a crossword puzzle in his hand and looked deep in thought. Catherine decided to leave him be and head back to the lab.  
  
"You took the wrong bag." Gil said, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. "Didn't trust me?"  
  
"It was an honest mistake." Catherine offered, leaning against the door post.  
  
"You went to see Greg."  
  
"You said you had already given him the samples."   
  
Gil paused. "I did."  
  
"Bullshit, Gil. And you know it." Catherine entered the room and stood before him. "What is going on?" Her anger began to fade as she sat down. "This isn't like you, Gil. It's almost as if some other force is controlling your body. So don't shut me out - tell me what's going on." She began to plead.  
  
Jim walked in to the break room. "Cath, Gil." He motioned them to follow.  
  
Catherine sighed as she watched Gil get up and leave the break-room. "Only get one chance. . . thanks Jim." She muttered to herself.   
  
The trio walked to the interrogation room. "Truth is, there was a witness. I just finished talking to him, and it led to this guy."   
  
Catherine looked through the one way mirror. "Okay, do you want me to go in there with you?" She asked, observing the suspect. He was a relatively thin man, aged thirty-five - no more. Jet black hair - dyed no doubt, from observing the colour of his light brown eyebrows - rested shaggily over his head. He had hazel eyes that seemed rather unfocused. A sharp nose led the way to a thin pair of lips. He was pale and didn't appeared the least bit fazed by the ordeal.  
  
"I'll go." Gil stepped in front of her.   
  
Jim shrugged. "Fine, you're the people person." He grunted sarcastically.  
  
Catherine looked at him quizzically. "I'll wait out here." She barely found her voice. «Who is this man?» She asked herself as she watched Grissom enter the interrogation room and lean against the wall.   
  
–TBC– 


	4. Bad Karma

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: I have *no* idea where I am going with this. . . man! How do I get myself in these predicaments?.  
  
----------Value - Part Four----------  
  
Catherine watched as Jim interrogated the suspect - a certain Timothy Hales. Her eyes rested on Gil, still leaning against the wall and watching the suspect. . . observing him. He made no effort to contribute to the case - no effort to make known the evidence collected. Catherine chuckled morosely. "What evidence?" She whispered.  
  
On the other side of the one-way window, Jim leaned on the table, coming face to face with the man. "We have a witness that put you at the crime scene. We also have a motive."  
  
"And what's that?" Timothy asked, though directed the question to Gil.  
  
"Seems you had a little beef with the victim. What, was he coveting your wife?" Jim asked innocently, though trying to spark some response from Timothy.  
  
Timothy let out a hoarse chuckle. "That tramp? You'd think I'd kill over her?" He sneezed and Catherine saw a sprinkle of spittle land on the cold, metal table that separate cop from suspect. She noted Gil noticed the DNA as well. "I've been seeing someone myself." He threw a card on the table. "Call her up. We were 'rocking the boat' if you get my drift, during the supposed murder."  
  
Jim picked up the card and threw it back on the table.   
  
"So, no evidence means no case, right?" Timothy asked, once again glancing at Gil. Gil nodded in response, which infuriated Catherine even more. She was about to step in when she was interrupted by Greg.  
  
"Catherine!" He jogged up to her, looking a little nervous. "You wouldn't shoot the messenger, would you?"  
  
Catherine became worried. "What did you find, Greg? Spill it, now!" She ordered, snatching the paper from Greg's hand.  
  
Greg handed her a paper. "The blood wasn't that of the vic or a suspect."  
  
"How can you be sure?"  
  
Greg paused. "It was Grissom's."  
  
The words echoed in her head. «Grissom?»  
  
She burst through the door and walked up to Gil. "What is going on?!" She demanded.  
  
"Mmmm." A lude moan came from behind her where Timothy stood. He looked her up and down and gave her a toothy grin that made her cringe. She watched as his eyes travelled from her body to Gil and then he nodded. He turned and left the interrogation room.  
  
Jim turned around and looked at Gil. "What was that about?"   
  
Gil shrugged. "Darned if I knew."  
  
Jim seemed to accept the answer but Catherine wasn't buying it. Her eyes grew big as she watched Gil walk towards the table. "No!" She yelled, and shoved him against the wall, pinning him with her arm across his chest. She knew he could easily push her aside, so she pressed her whole body to his, in an attempt to keep him still. There were secondary reasons to her actions, but she put all thoughts of carnal desires out of her head. "Jim." She asked, looking into Gil's sea-blue eyes, ever darkening with confusion. Confusion and. . .«Lust?» Shifting her body weight slightly, she felt his arousal press into her thigh. She inhaled sharply. "Jim." She called again, trying to steady her voice. "Can you please swab the table to get some DNA from the suspect?"   
  
Jim watched the somewhat compromising situation the two senior CSIs found themselves in. "Sure." He gave a brief reply. He swabbed the table and left the room, heading towards the lab.  
  
Catherine forced herself to concentrate on the evidence, on Gil's behaviour, on blue skies, on anything to keep her perverted mind from conjuring up images based on Gil's reaction to their close proximity. She tried to keep her breathing regular. "Gil. . ." she whispered, her face close to his. She closed her eyes for a brief second to regain control over her body. She felt something stir deep within her and she felt herself craving to feel him. When she opened her eyes, she saw him staring at her.  
  
"What are you doing, Cath?" His voice was almost a murmur, husky and sensual.   
  
Catherine felt his warm breath tickle her lips and she yearned for more. She pressed in to him more, leaning her whole weight against him. "S-stopping you from compromising the case." She leaned closer; her lips almost touching his. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hands reach her hips.  
  
Gil gave her hips a squeeze and felt Catherine buck against him. His breathing shallow, he touched his lips to hers, just barely. Sliding his hands to her waist, he whispered into her mouth, "I think we're done here." He suddenly lifted her up and deposited her to the side, thus freeing himself.  
  
Catherine stood facing the wall, trying to get her emotions and libido in check. "Go home, Gris. I'll take over the case." She said, without turning around. She sensed him lingering at the door.   
  
"Yeah." Came a distant reply. "I should." He walked towards his office.   
  
Catherine took a deep breath and pressed her thighs together. She was incredibly aroused and she could still feel Gil's length pressed up against her. She didn't know how long she had been planted there, but she noticed Gil walking past the room, towards the parking lot.   
  
She got up and followed him out, keeping a safe distance behind him. She watched him walk up to his Tahoe and hesitate. She sighed aloud; he looked so vulnerable that she had to fight the urge to run up and comfort him. She shook her head; he'd been acting so strange, ever since she walked into his office in the morning. «And staring at that blank piece of paper. . .» She chewed on her lower lip. She glanced back and noticed that Gil's SUV was still in the parking lot's vicinity. She walked briskly towards the car, her thoughts interrupted by the car's futile attempts to come to life. The poor creature's laments echoed through the parking lot as the engine made one last vain attempt to reanimate itself.  
  
"Shit." She heard Gil through the closed window.   
  
Catherine tapped lightly on the window and waited for him to roll down. He didn't budge. She opened the door and leaned against it. "Hey! Do you want a lift home?"  
  
Gil stared at her, unsure of her intentions. "I'll take a cab." He still felt aroused and seeing Catherine in all her splendour, didn't help the situation.   
  
She rolled her eyes. "C'mon." She yanked him back the arm and almost dragged him towards her vehicle. "Think of it as bad karma for taking off without me." She muttered, pushing him into the passenger's side. "Heh, car-ma? Get it..." She trailed off when she saw his blank expression. "Never mind." She eased the car out of the parking lot and headed towards Gil's house; a place where she called home, a safe haven for when the monstrosities of the World crept into her fragile mind and slowly began destroying it - bit by terrifying bit. "So . . . since we are alone," she glanced at him briefly, "are you going to tell me what's wrong?" She tried to keep her voice emotionless but she knew he picked up on her concern. She whimpered as she felt his hand on her thigh and tried to focus on the road.  
  
Gil smiled inwardly, noting the deep crimson rise, caressing her delicate face. "If there was a problem, you'd be the first to know, Cath." He said honestly. They didn't speak for the rest of the trip.  
  
Catherine cut the power to the engine and turned in her seat. "Will you be okay? Do you want me to come in and talk?" She paused, searching his eyes. ". . . or just listen?"  
  
"No." He said abruptly, as shock spread over Catherine's face. "Thank you." He added, as an after-thought. He got out of the car and walked briskly towards his townhouse. Opening the door, he let it close shut without a second glance. He walked to the window and began closing the curtains, his eyes never leaving Catherine's Tahoe.   
  
"Oh Gil. . ." Catherine dropped her head on the steering wheel. «Another woman? No wonder he had been so distracted.» Her thoughts jumped back to the moment in the interrogation room. His state wasn't because of her and a twisting pain hit her stomach with full force. She felt sick. She grasped her slim tummy and put the back of her hand to her mouth. Her breathing came out in quick spurts, hyperventilation finally exposing it's ugly self. Warm tears cascaded down her cheeks as she pulled out of his driveway and headed back to work. Work would help her forget for the moment, but she feared the moment when sleep would demand time, for she knew these haunting recollections would not let her off the hook with such ease. She knew: pain was not a stranger to Catherine Willows.   
  
Gil drew the curtains completely shut, whispering, "that's right, Cath. Just drive away. . ." When she was out of sight, he turned and smiled uncertainly, glancing at the dark-haired figure who seemed to have commandeered his couch.  
  
–TBC– 


	5. Barging In

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: Thanks for the feedback! You guys rock!  
  
----------Value - Part Five----------  
  
  
  
Sara sat idly on the couch and waited. She glanced at her surroundings, observing the general sense of bleakness that engulfed the room. But that was Gil - save for a few familiar bugs and jars, the room was void of any personal touch.   
  
Just then, Catherine breezed into the office, almost running towards the paper-shredder and seemingly ignoring Sara's presence.  
  
"Hey." Sara made herself known.  
  
Catherine spun around. "Oh, hey." The loud snap of latex echoed through the office.  
  
"Where's the boss?" Sara asked, perplexed as to why the senior CSI would be rifling through their supervisor's trash.  
  
"I sent him home." Catherine replied casually, trying desperately to retrieve every piece of the infamous paper that had since haunted her every thought. She picked up the last strand; cut finely into pieces about half and inch horizontally. She tried her best not to crumple the "evidence" - she needed to know who he was with, despite it shattering her heart. «Closure . . ."» She tried to give herself a valid reason for her newest project, bordering on obsession.  
  
"Sent him home? You actually managed to pry Grissom away from his work?" Sara asked, impressed with a slight undertone of envy. She still harbored feelings for the man, and a pang of jealous always seemed to strike whenever Catherine was close. He wouldn't admit it, but she knew that Gil favoured the strawberry-blond. She vehemently denied the unspoken bond the two senior CSIs shared, but was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Catherine owned Gil's heart - whether or not she was conscious of such possession. "Why did you send him home?"  
  
"He was feeling sick." Catherine blurted out. She began to exit the room with the pile of paper. "Move." She order Sara to get out of the way.  
  
Sara side-stepped. "Geez." She began to follow Catherine, curious as to what she was up to.  
  
"Do you need something?" Catherine asked professionally. "How was your case?"   
  
Sara pointed vaguely to the interrogation room. "Copped out. Done and finished." She yanked a piece of paper from Catherine's bundle. "They're all blank."  
  
"Sara!" Catherine said, snatching the piece back. "You're not wearing gloves! Dammit! Doesn't anyone follow protocol?" She barked, barging in to the darkened lab.  
  
Sara scowled and followed close behind. She was bored and paper work wasn't exactly quite as endearing as annoying Catherine. She grinned.   
  
"Greg?" Catherine called out. She spotted a blue light glowing near the back of the lab. "Greg." Catherine said in a demanding tone.  
  
"Yes ma'am!" Greg stood up and mock saluted Catherine. "Just checking for some trace blood in another case." He offered, pointing to the glasses, ALS and luminol spray. The rowdy one looked at the senior CSI and noted a small trace of distress hugging her features. "Everything alright?" He asked, taking off his glasses.  
  
"Besides it being that time of the month." Sara muttered, fiddling with the microscope.  
  
"Really?" Greg laughed, flashing the blue light towards Catherine's genital area.   
  
"Greg!" Catherine reprimanded but chuckled at his childlike behaviour. Their world, the world of corpses and crimes was a tough one, and she always embraced Greg's way of giving their work a human side. His antics were much needed and welcomed, even by Gil who, despite clearly being amused at times, would never concede to such pleasure.   
  
"C'mon, I can prove Sara wrong." He said, approaching her.   
  
Catherine raised her eyebrow, daring the younger man to take a step forward. She tried to shield herself with the papers and gasped when they fell under the blue light. "Woah!" She paused then walked to the table. Clearing some room, she gently laid the papers and straightened them out. "Put the light back on." She told Greg.   
  
"Looks like there's something written . . . in blood?" Greg looked up.   
  
"Are you sure?" Sara asked.   
  
Greg swabbed a piece of the paper and put it under the microscope. "There's traces of Luminol and obviously it's reacting with the iron in the blood."  
  
Catherine looked at both CSIs. "Um, do you mind giving me a moment."  
  
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not even your paper - you took it out of Grissom's garbage."   
  
"True, but I'm supervisor during Gil's absence, and I say out." She stood her ground, and watched as intimidation finally won over the other two investigators. Keeping the ALS suspended from above, she started straightening out all the pieces of paper and began to fit the puzzle together. Something was obviously written to Gil - something that he nor the writer wanted anyone else to see. «Well this is much better.» Catherine thought to herself. «Here I was looking for a fingerprint. . . »  
  
About a half-hour later, she finally fit all of the pieces in their rightful spot and began deciphering the cryptic note.  
  
A puddle of a being  
  
Can go unseen  
  
Lies can become true  
  
Fear for what you value  
  
Catherine put her hand to her mouth. He was being blackmailed. «What he values the most. . . » She thought, then her eyes grew wide. "The lab." She had stuck the note together and placed a posted-note of the message on the top. She had to get to Gil, but first she had to evacuate everyone from the lab. She pushed open the doors, almost colliding with Greg and Sara. "Out of the building!" She yelled.  
  
Sara grabbed hold of her arms. "What's wrong?"   
  
"We have to evacuate! Trust me, this play could blow." Catherine stopped. "Sara, you're in charge of safety right now, so get everyone out. I have to go talk to Gil."  
  
Sara nodded and grabbed Greg by the arm, heading towards security and the intercom. Along the way, they yelled out commands and people began scrambling towards the exits.  
  
Catherine hurried out the door and ran to her Tahoe. Jumping in, she keyed the ignition and sped towards the well-known townhouse. "C'mon, c'mon!" She drummed anxiously on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. She glanced at the note then back to the light. «Why didn't you tell me, Gil?» She sighed, fearing that they had been slowly drifting further and further away, and the note, glaring back at her with a devilled grin confirmed her consternation. She pulled up in his driveway, and ran to his door, pocketing her keys. She knocked and waited. Shuffling could be heard inside. "Gil!" She banged on the door. "Gil, open up - it's important!"  
  
"Cath, go away." Gil said rather harshly.   
  
She took a step back from the door, fright etched across her faces. She grinded her teeth. "No, no I will not go! Gil, you open this door right now!" Catherine ordered, anger slowly building up.   
  
"Catherine, go home." She heard him repeat her earlier words of wisdom.   
  
She let out a sigh of disgust. She fingered the key in her pocket. "Screw you, Gil." She muttered as she opened the door. She walked towards the living room, not bothering to close the door behind her. "Gil. . ." She whispered, seeing him sitting on the couch, a cut above his left eye, bruised lip which was adorned with a small amount of blood and his shirt had two slash marks, both barely covering red gashes.  
  
"You shouldn't have come. . ." He said, looking behind her.  
  
She straightened upon hearing the door close. Panicked eyes met those of a sorrowful blue.   
  
"I'm so sorry." She heard him whisper.  
  
—TBC— 


	6. Concealed Emotions

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: This might get a little complicated later on in the story, so my apologies. My brains often reassemble scrambled eggs . . .   
  
----------Value - Part Six----------  
  
Catherine heard the click of the gun and felt the cold barrel press against the back of her head.   
  
"Sit." The voice instructed her. She sat beside Grissom, keeping eye contact with him. Her thoughts fluttered back to the conversation she recently had with Greg, in her car.  
  
***  
  
"Hey. I got the DNA results back a while ago. Get this, the spit from the table doesn't match Timothy Hales - he doesn't exist."  
  
"What?!" Catherine yelled in the phone.  
  
"It did however match a Justin Lemox, twice convicted of battery and assault, charged with murder but the case was dropped due to insignificant amounts of evidence."  
  
Catherine paused. "But surely someone had to know - why wasn't this mentioned?" She bit.  
  
Greg hesitated. "W-well, I figured Grissom would recognize the guy; I mean he did testify in court."  
  
Catherine sighed. "Well, I'm heading over there now. I'll call you in about an hour." She was about to hang up. "Thanks Greg." She could feel him smile.  
  
***  
  
Catherine finally looked at the stranger. "Justin."  
  
Timothy's head shot up. "It's Tim. Justin is dead . . . or will be." He muttered the last part.   
  
"Timothy, why don't you sit down and talk." Catherine motioned the chair near the round table that rested in Gil's sitting room.  
  
"Shut up! I give the orders." He barked. An evil gleam flickered in his eye as his gaze moved to Catherine. "What would you do if I touched her . . . felt her?" His eyes stayed on Catherine but his question was directed to Gil.  
  
Catherine felt Gil tense, despite not having any physical contact. Psychologically though, she knew they were two in the same. Gil might not show his emotions but she knew the passion that had been violently locked away. When Gil cared - he cared deeply. She only wished that she could be, one day, on the receiving end of such feelings. She would always picture him when she was pleasuring herself, feeling him between her legs, never wanting to break the magical connection that would form when they would become one. A single tear trickled down her cheek; she would never have that chance.  
  
Gil chewed on his lower lip. It was his job to protect . . . especially Catherine. He had made a silent promise to himself to never let any harm come her way and he felt the frustrations build as his vow was being destroyed. He felt the tear slip from her eye; the bond they shared being incredibly sensitive.   
  
Catherine felt a warm hand cup her cheek and absorb the tear. She looked at Gil.  
  
Gil took a breath. "Let her go." He turned to Timothy who had been watching the scene with malevolent amusement.  
  
Catherine cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter, Gil. I saw the letter, I cleared the lab." She leaned into his hand. "Everyone is safe."  
  
Timothy laughed and held Gil's stare. "The one thing you value -"  
  
"- yes, the lab. And it's cleared!" Catherine interjected.  
  
Timothy ignored her. "Mr. Grissom? Do *you* believe the one thing you most value is safe?" He asked, deliberately.   
  
Catherine looked from Gil to Timothy. «His house? His sense of security? Privacy?» She tried to decipher what Gil valued most. "If it's not the lab - then what?" She asked Timothy.  
  
His eyes fell on her and he raised both eyebrows.  
  
Catherine looked at Gil, but he kept staring at Timothy.  
  
"And then you fell into my lap, making my job a whole lot easier." Timothy grinned, waving the gun.   
  
Catherine looked at him. "How did you know?" She whispered.  
  
"The eyes never lie, Miss Willows." Timothy leaned back on his heels. "The way he looks at you." He dug into his jacket pocket and tossed a wallet on the ground. "The pictures in his wallet."   
  
Catherine picked up the wallet with curiosity. First thing she saw was Gil's driver's license. His badge, some other identification, credit cards and then her eyes skimmed through various pictures of her at different moments of her life. A small smile escaped when she noticed a few pictures of Lindsey as well.  
  
"Creepy, don't you think?" Timothy laughed.  
  
She saw Gil's embarrassed look, as he focussed his gaze on the ground. "I think it's perfectly normal for someone to have pictures of their family." Her eyes met Gil and she gave him a supportive smile. Her heart raced, enumerating the reasons why Gil would have pictures of her in his wallet. They had looked used - as if they had been handled often. Did he look at them a lot? Run his fingers across them, memorizing each feature?" She looked back at Timothy. "Why Gil? Why go after him?"  
  
"His so called evidence was nothing but his observational skills ratted me out, but leaving Justin innocent." He said. "But Justin made me do it!"  
  
Catherine cocked her head to the side. "But the charges were dropped . . . " Catherine rationalized.   
  
"Charges can be dropped, but branding can't be erased." Timothy paced.  
  
"You were institutionalized."  
  
"*Justin* was institutionalized." Timothy argued. "I was dragged along for the ride." He pulled his hair in anger. "He just hit them. Pummelled them mercilessly. I could only watch their bodies convulse each time the shock of his punch came down. But he knew went to stop; the fine line between battery and murder." He looked at the two CSIs. "The fine line between bruises that heal and corpses that aren't afraid to talk." He added as an afterthought.  
  
"Bruises heal . . . souls don't." Gil said softly.  
  
"Shut up!" Timothy pointed the gun to Gil's temple. "Just shut up! You got me in this mess! You brought me in! You should have just sentenced Justin!" His finger trembled on the trigger.  
  
"So why do you need her? Kill me - that's all you need." Gil pleaded.  
  
"I want you to feel what it's like to lose something you value, Mr. Grissom." He backed up slightly. "My house, my car, my job, my family . . . my identity." He let out a sad laugh. "Gone. Thanks to Justin and you."  
  
"Your materialistic world . . . that's what you value most?" Gil asked, intently.  
  
"What?" No . . . my family . . . you took them away from me!"  
  
"House, job, car - all those are items, Mr. Hales. Could it be that your family left because of your reputation?"  
  
"She loved me!" Timothy screamed.  
  
"Or did she love Justin?" Gil asked calmly, sparking incomprehension from Catherine, wondering why her supervisor was taunting the suspect.  
  
"Justin *seduced* her!" Timothy yelled. "She didn't mean to say his name in bed . . . " He began pacing again.   
  
Catherine leaned over to Gil, while Timothy walking about, muttering to himself. "What are you doing?" She whispered.  
  
"If my calculations are correct," Gil tried desperately not to move his lips too much, "pushing him might purge Timothy from Justin."  
  
"You think Justin is still alive?" Catherine said, a little too loud.  
  
Timothy whipped his head around. "He's dead." He snapped. "I think that'd be a good look for the both of you." He held the gun level with her forehead. A smile dawned on his sharp features. "Say goodbye to value, Mr. Grissom."  
  
Gil's eyes shot to Justin's. "No . . . " but it was barely a whisper; emotion rising up like bile, burning his esophagus. "Don't . . . please." He could feel moisture dampen his eyes. Life without Catherine wouldn't be worthy of such title. "Just take me." He begged.  
  
"Oh, I will." A smirk. "But I'll let you watch her die first as I have watched my life crumble before my eyes. Let her represent all you and Justin have taken away from me . . . my power." His eyes softened for a mere second. "I'll give you a minute to bid her farewell." He stepped back, sitting in the chair placed opposite the couch.  
  
Gil stood up and knelt down before Catherine. His bit his trembling lip as her hand cupped his face. "I didn't tell you - I didn't want to put your safety in jeopardy." He looked up at her with glassy eyes. "Please don't hate me."  
  
"I don't hate you." She whispered, crushing him in an embrace."  
  
He pressed his forehead against her neck, hurting that he would never again feel her in his arms, against his body. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry." He rested his hand in her hair, memorizing the silky softness caressing him.   
  
"No, it's not Gil." Catherine said softly. "I chose to come."  
  
"And I chose to love you!" He shot back, tears threatening to spill. "If it wasn't for my selfish actions to quench this thirst I have for you, you wouldn't be here . . . "  
  
"You don't chose who you love, Gil." Catherine pressed on. She took a chance; grabbing his right hand that was gripping her waist, she guided it down to her right calve. She sighed as his warm hand caressed her skin. She silently glided his hand up to her knee, urging him with her eyes to continue further.  
  
"Sure." Timothy's voice exploded behind them, but the two never broke gaze. "Cop a feel - pleasure her before she can't feel anything."   
  
Gil ignored Timothy's comment. His hand slid past her knee, feeling her smooth, toned thigh. His hand, now under her skirt, caressed caused Catherine to squirm, pushing herself closer to his hand. Then he felt it. "Oh Cath . . ." He breathed. He toyed with it.  
  
"C'mon!" Timothy stood up and stepped beside Gil. "Now - up!" He ordered.  
  
Catherine leaned in to a grasp Gil's lips with hers as his hand travelled deeper, out of view, masked by the skirt's material. Catherine gasped, inching closer to Gil; Timothy's sharp orders fading out into background noise.  
  
Gil moistened his lower lip, anticipating Catherine's lips. As their lips were but a breath from touching, he grabbed the concealed service gun hidden in her thigh holster. He stood up, spun around and shot once, blindly, hoping that it hit his target. He remembered oddly hearing two shots before a searing pain in his shoulder caught him careening backwards to the floor. Another "thud" followed shortly, leaving the room in a dusty silence. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.  
  
Catherine opened her eyes and unfolded herself from the refuged position she took on the couch. "Gil?" She called out cautiously. She glanced on the floor, seeing Timothy still clutching the gun. Her eyes turned to the right of her. "Gil!" She rushed to his side, her eyes falling on the blood near his body.  
  
"Cath . . ." He paused, and exhaled, "God." His breathing was economical, focussed on his wound. "Go . . . go check on . . . "  
  
She got up, though not wanting to leave Gil's side. She slowly bent down near Timothy; her skirt creeping up a bit. She removed the gun from his hand and checked for a pulse.  
  
Gil raised his head and let his eyes roam her now exposed thigh, cursing himself for his evident lust for the strawberry-blond. «You're probably on your way out, old man, and *that's* all you can think of.» He berated himself. He dropped his head back on the floor with a groan. She clutched his shoulder, the pain sending off tingling shocks of agony. He closed his eyes, noise dissipating.  
  
"Gil?"   
  
He tried to focus his eyes but to no avail. Suddenly, he felt really cold. He then began to feel motion. He struggled a bit, then felt a comforting hand on his chest. He ceased attempts. "Cath?" He closed his eyes again.  
  
"I'm here." She merely said, watching his unconscious form being loaded up into the ambulance. She stood beside Jim and watched the ambulance drive off.   
  
"You want to follow him?" He asked, eyes never leaving the horizon.  
  
She nodded. "I want to be with him."  
  
–TBC– 


	7. Pain and Pleasure

TITLE: Value  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R (some sexual themes)  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .   
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.  
  
NOTES: Tis the end, folks. Thanks for reading and reviews! Cheers!  
  
----------Value - Part Seven----------  
  
Gil walked slowly down the deserted corridors, soon to be bustling with the night shift crew. His left shoulder twitched unconsciously in the dark blue sling that was slung over his right shoulder, cradling his left arm. He turned into his office and dropped some cases on the desk. Sitting, he opened the drawer and pulled out a tanned, see-through bottle. He popped two pills in his mouth and reached for his bottle of water. He looked up and grimaced, noticing its absence. "Shit." He said, though muffled by the now acidic taste the pills were leaving in his mouth.  
  
"Here."   
  
He looked up just in time to see a glass of water dangling in front of him. He smiled at Catherine and took the glass, downing it and smacking his lips when finished. "Thanks." He breathed out.  
  
She smiled and sat down in front of him. "So, how are you feeling?" She asked, concerned.   
  
"Never better."   
  
She raised her eyebrow and looked at the bottle of pain killers, which he quickly grabbed from her line of view and pocketed them.  
  
He shrugged. "Been better." He glanced at her shyly then picked up his crossword puzzle. Neither of them had spoken about the events transpired in his townhouse. It was as if it had never happened, the only memory now lying in an out-of-commissioned state, limp in a sling. But he could still feel her skin under his touch, her breath against his lips, her hair like silk caressing his hand. Those memories could not be washed away, and he soon realized that he needed them to survive. He almost lost her and for three days now, tears washed over his face at night. The realization hit him, and it hit him hard. But he couldn't bear to be away from her. Her presence gave him comfort, took away the physical and psychological pain.  
  
"So, was it Justin or Timothy that killed the victim in the restaurant?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Both." Gil offered.  
  
"So Justin Lemox created Timothy Hales when his wife called out that name in bed?" Catherine asked.  
  
"He wanted to please her, so he often became Timothy at night."Gil nodded. "And then one day, Timothy just took over." He looked at Catherine. "This Timothy fell in love with Mrs. Lemox. Jealousy and lust can be a dangerous combination." He went back to his crossword.  
  
Catherine sighed, thoughts of Gil running in a frenzy through her head. She knew he loved her, but she wasn't sure if that was just an 'in the moment' moment. She smiled inwardly. He loved her, and she began to feel it. It emanate from his being but why hadn't he made a move? Why were they back at square one? Why wasn't she in his arms at this moment? «I know he loves me - he knows I love him . . . » She let her thoughts trail. «Does he know?» Her eyes snapped to his face, now deep in concentration over the enigma printed in black and white. She opened her mouth to speak, just as his eyes shot to hers. "I'm going to get some coffee." She offered lamely, turned and scrunched up her face at her weakness. She stopped at the door. "Gil." She didn't turn around. "I love you." She let out a chuckle. "In love." She waited for a response but when none was received, she opened the door only to have it pushed closed. Her hand stayed on the doorknob; head bent, concealing a victorious smile.  
  
"Cath." Gil stood behind her, his right arm holding the door shut. He waited for her to turn.  
  
She turned around and looked directly into his eyes. She quickly glanced down at his lips, resting in a pout, and then back at his eyes. She let her hand float up to the base of his neck, and gently pulled him down. They both stopped, inches away from touching.   
  
"We seem to end up in this," he paused, "limbo, quite a lot." Gil's voice was breathy.  
  
"Change is inevitable." Catherine stated, drawing closer. She brushed her lips lightly against his, and withdrew. She charged again, a little more aggressive this time, capturing his lower lip with her teeth. "God, your lips drive me crazy."  
  
Gil bent down and let his tongue glide across the smooth skin of her neck, making his way along her jaw-line up to her ear lobe. He nibbled on the end, causing her to moan. He made his way back to her mouth, and she allowed his tongue access, giving him a lifetime pass to all the main attractions.   
  
Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck as she felt his slide up and down the side of her waist. She pulled him to her roughly, her back banging against the door behind her.   
  
Gil let out a groan and leaned against her.  
  
She held her breath. "Your shoulder?" She felt him nod, his face buried in her chest. "I'm so sorry." She dropped her hands to her side. "Are you okay?" He didn't answer nor move. "Gil?" Came her concerned inquiry.  
  
It was a few moments before he spoke. "I love it when you were low cut shirts." His voice was muffled.  
  
She threw her head back as she felt his tongue glide over the top of her exposed flesh. "Gil!" She giggled, surprised at his playfulness. "Seriously, how's your arm."  
  
He pulled back, the pout back on his face. "It hurts." He stuck out his lower lip even more. "A lot."   
  
Passion danced in her eyes. "Want me to make it better?" She took a step towards him.  
  
He took a step back. "You'll probably make it worse." He teased her.  
  
She continued to advance until she was pressed up against his body. She could once again feel his arousal pressed against her, and this time she had no doubt as to who was the cause of it. "Well, you know the saying, 'pain is pleasure'?" She wiggled her eyebrows, smiled mischievously and turned on her heel, exiting the room.   
  
Gil stuck his head out of his office and watched her retreating form - hips swaying side to side, taunting him. He let out an aroused growl and tossed the bottle of painkillers over his shoulder, and headed out, hunting for Catherine.  
  
– Finis – 


End file.
